


This Job Sucks (...but there are some perks)

by Kaerith



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Humor, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance, Spies and Assassins, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: “I can’t get you out of the dungeon without blowing my cover. That’s too risky. I won’t free you and put my ass on the line for it if I am not certain you can get the job done without my help.”“I can do it,” Nico promises stubbornly. This guy doesn’t know him; Nico isgood.He just... got caught by the guards because of a fluke of timing. It wasn’t his fault.Yusuf gives him a look over his beard that clearly says,Yeah, sure,very sarcastically. But he had come to hiss the code word through the bars, so Yusuf was the one guy he had here that he could trust.“There is another option. To get you in close proximity to the warlord. Even closer than I can get at my rank.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 9
Kudos: 69
Collections: All and More (18+) Kaysanova Gift Bag 2020





	This Job Sucks (...but there are some perks)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badwolfbadwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [badwolfbadwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf) in the [All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020) collection. 



> This is where Wolfie’s harem prompt led me. I hope you enjoy some snarky Nicky undercover mission fic. <3

“Listen,” Yusuf says, and Nicolò does. Yusuf is the only here who is on his side and knows what he is doing here. 

“Listen,” he repeats and, judging from his expression, he is about to impart some information Nico doesn’t want to hear. “I can’t get you out of the dungeon without blowing my cover. That’s too risky. I won’t free you _and_ put my ass on the line for it if I am not certain you can get the job done without my help.” 

“I can do it,” Nico promises stubbornly. This guy doesn’t know him; Nico is _good._ He just... got caught by the guards because of a fluke of timing. It wasn’t his fault.

Yusuf gives him a look over his beard that clearly says, _Yeah, sure,_ very sarcastically. But he had come to hiss the code word through the bars, so Yusuf was the one guy he had here that he could trust.

“There is another option. To get you in close proximity to the warlord. Even closer than I can get at my rank.”

Nicolò waves a laconic hand at his surroundings. “How can a prisoner get closer to the warlord than a palace guard? When he personally gives me a death sentence for trespassing? Is he going to chop off my head himself, and I will have the chance to take the axe from him and use it against him?”

Yusuf thinks he is funny. He wants to laugh. Nico can see it in his eyes. The man is stubborn, though, and puts on a good front. “There are only two reasons that foreigners from diplomatic contingents get caught sneaking into the warlord’s private rooms. One is treachery.”

“Obviously,” Nico says. He has no idea what this other reason could be. What other excuse could there be?

“Or besotted irrationality,” Yusuf finishes. 

“Besot-! You think I could have gone in there to try to _seduce_ him?!”

The guard shrugs. “Qui’an isn’t old or hideous. If you can pull it off convincingly, he is narcissistic enough to believe it. And horny enough not to listen to everyone who tells him that it isn’t a good idea. He would love to have a pale man from the West begging for his cock.”

Nico’s face feels so hot that he should be glowing, but the dim, smelly dungeon doesn’t illuminate any brighter. Just as well; there definitely won’t be anything that he would want to see.

The asshole who is Nicolò’s only ally here smirks. He clearly doesn’t think Nico will agree to this disaster of a plan. He would probably be just as happy to leave him here to face the kangaroo court and hangman. But he is on the other side of the locked door and Nico hates him.

“I can do it,” he says.

One of Yusuf’s eyebrows lifts skeptically.

“I _can_ do it!”

Yusuf shrugs. “You don’t have to convince me. You have to convince the warlord.”

“I will,” Nico promises. “What do I need to say?”

The guardsman shrugs again. “Whatever you think will get him to look at you. Want you.” He looks Nicolò over and his lips pull into a moue of thoughtful, though dubious, assessment. “It helps that he is racist. Make him feel like he will be the best lover you have ever had. Say that white men’s cocks have never satisfied you, and you have heard the ballads of his strength and skill. Say you always wanted a man to hold you down and fuck you like you deserve to be used. Say that you snuck into his rooms because you crave his touch and that you will die happy now that you have merely laid eyes upon him. ...And blush like that,” he adds, smirking. “He will find it very exotic.”

* * *

Nicolò is already blushing before he is even escorted into the throne room. Just thinking about what he needs to say mortifies him to his bones. He must retrieve the sacred text, though. He had sworn that he would. If he doesn’t, Qui’an might be swayed by Merrick to join forces to _use_ it, and that could spell disaster for the entire world. 

Qui’an doesn’t physically look that much different than Yusuf, to Nico’s eye. About the same height as Yusuf, slightly lighter complexion. More gray in his hair and beard— which are trimmed short, unlike Yusuf’s. His countenance is more haughty and vain rather than confident and competent. 

“Nicolò di Abruzzo, arrested while trying to enter your private chambers, my lord. Punishment is execution for espionage.” 

Qui’an barely glances at Nico. His hand lifts to wave in agreement with the ruling. Nicolò needs to speak up. 

“M-my lord!” He manages to be loud even if he couldn’t stop the stutter. All eyes turn to him, even the warlord’s, though he doesn’t look at all interested. Nico has his work cut out for him. “O great warlord,” Nico says. Flattery; always safe to start with that. “I came because I had heard of your-“ (what did Yusuf say?) “-strength. Your strategic mind that has grown your lands nearly twice in size. I was compelled by your reputation, to lay my own eyes upon the man-“ (shit!) “-who is worth a score of any other mortals who walk this earth. I was drawn by the rumors of your-“ ( _fuck!_ The asshole is clearly losing interest! Gotta say something _really_ unexpected!) “-cock!” 

Nicolò’s declaration resounds loudly in the chamber. Even after the last echo, there is a moment of silence before he hears the titters of shocked laughter. Nico, already on his knees on the floor, drops down into a pose of pure supplication: arms and fingers spread wide and his forehead and nose pressed against the marble. If he squeezes his eyes shut, maybe he can pretend there is no one else here? 

“You have my interest.” 

Nico had not heard the warlord’s voice before, but definitely recognizes the entitled tone. “I apologize for... betraying my desires so publicly, my lord. I had hoped to earn your attention in a more private location.” (Hahaha, yeah. Understatement.) “But my longing for you is strong and pure enough that I will express it before the gods themselves if it is the only means I have to earn turn your ear.” 

“Sit up,” Qui’an says, “Let me see your face, foreigner.” 

Nicolò straightens his back and rests on his heels, trying to regather any shreds of dignity he has left, if any. He keeps his eyes submissively on the warlord’s shoes. 

“...I suppose you are not so unpleasant to look at,” Qui’an sneers. “You may move forward to the steps of the dais.” There are protests from the warlord’s guards and courtiers, but he must make a gesture to stop them that Nico can’t see. “I do not need to have this outsider shouting about my dick for all the city to hear,” he says. Which Nicolò finds unexpectedly modest of him. 

He approaches carefully and slowly and then sinks back into a kowtow. “My eternal gratitude for your kindness, great conqueror. You bless me with your attention.” 

Nico can’t believe his ears as he hears the shifting of heavy cloth-of-gold. The warlord leaves his throne and _crouches_ down, a mere two paces from where Nico prostrates himself. 

“Now look me in the eye and tell me why you were in my rooms. And what my cock has to do with it.” 

* * *

“You managed to do it.” 

Yusuf’s sardonic voice is the one to startle Nicolò out of a doze in the tiny, bare waiting room he had been left in. 

Nico looks around at the corners furtively. “I told the warlord only the truth,” he says. They had risked plain talk in the dungeon, but inside the palace itself the walls could have ears. Yusuf was an _idiot_ to speak to him so familiarly. 

“I have orders to prepare you for my lord’s company. Chaperoned, of course; we can’t trust any random person who comes in yelling about his hunger for our ruler’s dick.” 

Nico _hates_ him. He cannot believe his superiors stuck him with this guy on a mission so important. _”Yusuf is one of our best,”_ Andy had said. She must have been feeling really guilty about sending Nicolò here to have fed him such a lie. 

The bathing room Yusuf leads him to is utilitarian, though Nico has never seen one with copper tubes that can empty hot water into a tub directly from an enormous boiler. Yusuf mixes some bucketfuls of cold water into the small, steaming pool then tests the temperature with an arm. “Strip,” he orders, amusement in his voice at how Nicolò has remained practically folded in on himself. 

“You’re not going to give me privacy?” 

Yusuf snorts. “No one trusts you to leave you alone. You’re lucky I convinced them that I should be the one to tend to you and that I didn’t need any help to kill you if needed.” 

_Ha,_ Nico thinks, _You could try. I would definitely kill you first._ But he steps closer to the tub and starts removing his clothes. It is luxurious to settle neck-deep into water so hot. Nico has to stifle a groan and keep his eyes from fluttering shut. Unfortunately that just means he is able to see Yusuf’s smug grin. And also how the man picks up his clothes and tosses them into the flaming belly of the boiler. 

“What the fuck?!” Nico scrambles to his feet, splashing water over the sides of the bath. 

Yusuf’s smile is almost predatory for a moment before it settles into one of humor at Nico’s expense. “You think those garments are what a prospective member of the warlord’s harem wears to woo the great lord?” 

“Har-harem?!” 

The guardsman gives him a look of insulting condescension. “Did you think you were begging him for marriage?” 

Nicolò hadn’t, of course, but the possibility of being inducted into Qui’an’s seraglio had never crossed his mind. It should have; it makes sense. Andy, Quynh, Booker, and Nile are going to roll on the floor laughing themselves sick when he gives his report. 

All Nicolò can do is sit back down and grudgingly wash himself while that bastard Yusuf putters around. He would try to murder the man by the power of his thoughts alone, but that would get him into even hotter water. 

“Need help washing your hair?” Yusuf asks. 

“No,” Nico says firmly. 

Once that is done, and Nico has dried himself off, he is left to stand, horrified, gaping at what Yusuf has set out for him to wear. He knows his face is in danger of bursting like a grape with all his blood pooling under the skin. He swears a string of very rude words, but reaches for the garment that can only, in the vaguest terms, be called trousers. 

“You, ah, should have some more preparation, first,” Yusuf says, almost tentatively. 

This means nothing for a moment until Nico’s brain connects his words to the bashful way Yusuf is carefully _not_ looking at him as he points to an ornate covered pot. _Fuck,_ Nico thinks, with disturbing aptness. 

“I... I know the theory,” he admits. 

“You’ve never...?” 

He shakes his head. Swallows. “I mean, I’ve _thought_ about it,” he says. Yusuf looks kind of winded and hurt, like he had taken a horse’s kick to the chest. It is rather heartwarming to know that the idiot isn’t immoral enough to want to send anyone to be raped, even someone he regards as lowly as he does Nico. He sets his jaw and says, “If you are as good as you claim, then you only need to do it for appearance’s sake.” 

Nico would like to agree, but this mission has been going wrong for him at every turn. He is not sure that these “chaperones” Yusuf mentioned will leave before the... amorous activities get started. Killing the warlord to retrieve the text will be easier if the two of them are alone. To get to that point Nico may need to be... convincing. 

“Have you?” He asks. 

Yusuf shifts, throat visibly works as he swallows, then nods. 

“Then I would appreciate your assistance.” Nico tries to say this loftily, nonchalantly, but he feels both his knees and his voice quiver. 

Yusuf steps forward, hand out, like he is ready to soothe a startled animal. It makes Nicolò feel an unexpected rush of relief and affection that this stranger apparently has a gentle and caretaking side. “Your. Your...” He stutters and makes a vague motion with his hand. 

The fear and mortification suddenly coalesce into something new inside of Nico. “My ass,” he says firmly. “Yes.” 

He uncovers the little pot, scoops up some of the grease with his fingers, and sets one foot on the bench. He hasn’t done this before. The angle is awkward. Having Yusuf’s eyes on him, too, while he does this is... awkward. But if his only ally here has inexplicably quailed at the necessity of Nicolò having to do _things_ for the sake of their mission, then Nicolò himself is going to be strong. What does _Yusuf_ even have to be acting so precious about? It’s not like the guy is shy or has had any moral qualms so far about sending Nico off to act slutty for some pretentious shite of a warlord! 

Having a finger in his own butt is weird. Nico thinks that a person must really be selfless to want to do this for some man. He can only imagine what a penis might feel like up here, and it isn’t a happy thought. He prays that he can succeed in his mission before Qui’an gets this far. 

“You’re, uh,” Yusuf trails off, unhelpfully. 

“You have tips?” Nico shoots back, feeling annoyed and... something else he doesn’t want to parse. 

“I mean, I. I _have_.” 

“Done this yourself or to other reluctant potential members of Qui’an’s harem?” 

“...Both,” Yusuf says. 

Nico’s back is to Yusuf. Because he can’t see him, it’s easier to say, “You volunteering to do this for me?” 

Yusuf’s deep indrawn breath gives everything away, and Nico’s own body starts to go haywire with something other than shame. “If you would like,” Yusuf says quietly. 

Nicolò stands as straight as he can with one foot still propped on the bench. He doesn’t turn around to look at Yusuf. His cheeks are flaming again, but it is from something different than embarrassment for once. “Go on then.” It’s a dare, said goadingly, but the softness of his voice turns it into something _else_ as well. 

He can see Yusuf’s fingers dip into the pot in his peripheral vision and the man puts his other hand on Nico’s back. “Relax,” he says and, obligingly, something uncurls in Nico. 

Immediately the probing fingers feel different than his own. Heat washes up through Nico as Yusuf gently opens him up. When two digits enter him fully, they graze against something inside of him that makes an almost violent arousal spike inside. Nicolò tips his head back and his legs almost falter in their strength, but Yusuf’s body is magically _there_ to brace him. 

“Gotcha,” Yusuf says. His voice is husky in Nico’s ear, and his beard brushes his neck and jaw. “Okay?” 

A whine emerges from his throat. Nico feels like he is drowning. “I’ve never-“ 

“I know,” Yusuf says. His other hand is curled around Nico’s hip. Their voices are both quiet and intimate. Nico’s dick is getting hard. “You are allowed to like it,” Yusuf soothes. God, his fingers are magic. 

“More.” 

Yusuf gives him more, inserts a third finger and pushes with care against that tender, erotic spot inside of Nico until he is instinctively rocking back and seeking the sensation. One of Nico’s hands goes to his cock. “Stroke yourself,” Yusuf encourages, a catch in his voice. “Enjoy it. I want to watch you come.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nicolò groans out, his hand jerking himself. Yusuf is watching from over his shoulder, his breath gusting out over Nico’s skin and proving that he is liking what he sees. He rolls his head, feels Yusuf’s hair on his lips and mouths at him, craving the taste of his skin. Why does he have to be so hairy? Well, if the man won’t oblige him by kissing him, the least he can do is- “Talk to me.” 

He can feel Yusuf sigh, and it is like Nico’s request has broken a dam inside of him. “You are so hot inside. So tight. You are riding my hand like you have never felt anything so good. So greedy for touch.” His free hand skims up over Nico’s waist, belly, and chest. Pinches a nipple, which makes Nicolò moan. “Your body sings to mine. I have never seen anything more beautiful.” 

Nicolò comes, letting all his weight lean back trustingly onto Yusuf. Yusuf pulls his fingers out and gentles Nico’s thrumming nerves with sweet caresses. When his mind recovers from the white-out of pleasure, he reaches back to try to find Yusuf’s cock; to see if he is hard and ready like he had claimed. He only gets a brush against Yusuf’s dick which is, indeed, stiff at the crux of his pelvis, but the guardsman pushes his hand away. “We do not have time.” 

There is hot longing in his voice. Nicolò could easily convince him, but he is unfortunately correct. Nico moves his foot to the floor, his knee shaking a little as it readjusts. He turns and drops onto the bench and rubs his face with his clean hand. “Muh,” he grunts wordlessly with frustration. 

Yusuf laughs as he wrings out a cloth of Nico’s bath water. He smiles, his teeth straight and bright, in the first genuine smile Nico has received from him. Without any mockery, it is a lovely thing. Nico’s heart squeezes. He takes the cloth and wipes himself off, feeling Yusuf watching him and pleased to have his attention. 

“You don’t want help with that?” 

“One of us should be alert and not dozy with afterglow,” Yusuf says. It is a reminder of their mission. 

“You are going to be there?” 

Yusuf nods, and the information fills Nico with relief that is more than just knowing he will have an ally in the room. 

“I admit that it will be difficult for me to watch,” he says. “To listen.” Yusuf’s eyes are hot and seem to glide over Nicolò’s bare flesh in a very palpable way. “It will be torture if he gets to touch you and I have to watch you enjoy it.” 

“It will only be pretend,” Nico says. He can’t imagine that that bastard of a warlord could wind him up with as much skill as Yusuf had. There is kindness and a wellspring of generosity inside Yusuf that he keeps well-hidden; something that Nicolò would never had guessed at after their first meeting in the dungeon and his teasing in that waiting room not too long ago. But he is open and shining with it now, as well as with a gentle possessiveness that thrills Nico’s blood. 

“I will not need him to get that far,” Nico promises. “I only need to lure him into privacy and then I will-“ he barely prevents himself from saying his treasonous plans, but Yusuf nods in understanding. 

“It is time to get you dressed,” he says. 

* * *

It was easy. Nico had managed to charm the warlord. _(“Call me Qui’an,” he had said, and Nicolò’s tongue had tripped over the pronunciation. “Keane” had been the best he had been able to say, and luckily the pompous ass had just laughed.)_ All Nico had had to do was remember that he was proving his skill as a spy and assassin to Yusuf who was right there until Qui’an had finally pulled him from the table and into his bedchamber. Nico had strangled him with his own sash, moved the unconscious man into a natural-looking position of sleep, then had found a dagger to stab into his heart and had left it there hidden under Qui’an amid the mussed bed sheets. The sacred text had been in a locked trunk Nico had easily picked open, and then he was slipping out of the room and back into the hallway. Hiding both the parchment and a weapon in the flimsy loose trousers was the only real difficult part. 

His heart had been in his throat and his pulse was pounding as he exited the warlord’s chambers not knowing whether he would get away quickly and quietly or if he would have to fight his way out of the palace. 

Yusuf was there, though, among the handful of guards who leered at Nicolò disgustingly. Nico focused on him as he smirked and said, “Seems you’ve been chosen to join my lord’s coterie of pretty birds.” 

“Hardly a pretty one,” another man joked. “His mouth must make up for his ugly beak of a nose!” 

“We do not have the privilege of critiquing our Lord’s taste,” Yusuf had swiftly corrected him. “Since you seem to lack proper respect for our warlord, I shall escort him to the harem myself.” 

Yusuf had directed Nico swiftly through the palace and out into an alleyway and through a door to the city. “Success?” He had finally breathed close to Nicolò’s ear, and he had nodded. 

In a small, shabby stable Yusuf handed him a bundle of clothes. Nicolò had changed then they both mounted tacked geldings and left in the darkness. There was very little time to talk as they put distance between them and the fallout of their mission. Eventually they made a cold camp— picketing the horses and huddling in the shelter of a thick copse of trees. They hashed over Nico’s success, Nico able to explain the goals of his mission and how he had carried them out in the warlord’s private bed room. 

He had not shied away from the press of Yusuf’s shoulder against his, and is pleased when the other man slings his arm around him and nuzzles close. “You made me jealous,” he admits lowly, directly into Nicolò’s ear. “Do you know how you looked? I could see _everything_ through those pants you were wearing. And your bare chest. And that cuff on your bicep. Everything shone in the candlelight. I wanted to steal you from his sight for he did not deserve to lay his eyes upon you, much less a hand.” 

Yusuf’s jealousy is a searing thing that worms into Nico’s core and sizzles in his veins. He had never felt lust sit so heavily in the cradle of his hips and the jut of his cock. He doesn’t think it was just that he had been touched in a way he had never experienced before: he thinks it is largely because _Yusuf_ was the one to do it to him, unravel him so thoroughly with just his fingers and attention and voice. 

Nico takes Yusuf’s hand and places it where his cock is trapped, straightening itself inside of his clothing. “You were the one who oiled me up,” he says to him. “He never touched anything except my hand; _you_ applied the oil on my chest and _you_ were the one who made me come with your fingers.” 

He can feel shudders go through Yusuf’s entire body. He inhales, a quick indrawn gasp while his palm cups the bulge of Nico’s erection. He presses down with the heel of his hand, and Nico, too, groans. “Nicolò di Abruzzo-“ he says. 

“It’s actually di Genova,” Nico corrects with a wry smile. 

The color of Yusuf’s eyes are clear in the light of the early morning; a deep brown that looks soft and affectionate when matched with the way his entire face transforms when he smiles as he is doing now. “Nicolò,” he says firmly, and Nico loves the way the vowels of his name seem to twist and drip off his agile tongue. “Am I correct in assuming that my attentions would be welcome?” 

“Give me all of your attentions,” Nico replies, the joke encompassing all of the craving he truly feels to receive everything Yusuf can give him. 

Yusuf moves and straddles his lap. He takes Nico’s face in his large hands. Nicolò is caught between the intimate and silent communication in their locked gaze and the pressure of his body on his dick. His body wins out over his mind and heart for the moment, and Nico grinds against Yusuf’s body. 

That seems to erode all of Yusuf’s restraint. He kisses Nico with passion, thoroughly and all-encompassing. One hand leaves his cheek to burrow through the split of the robes and into the loose trousers Nicolò is wearing and wraps around his cock. Nicolò returns the favor, his heart banging against the inside of his ribs when he feels the size and eagerness of Yusuf’s dick. 

“I can’t wait to get to safety,” Yusuf says choppily between panting breaths. “I want to have you on a bed, get my fingers into you again, feel you tight around them.” 

“I want to be tight around your cock,” Nico says plainly, meaning what he says so, so much. 

“I want to- to fall asleep, after. With you in my arms.” There’s a vulnerability in Yusuf’s eyes when he admits that. Many men would permit a sexual tryst with another but scorn any hint of romance. Nico, though, only feels a surge of emotion rising in him like the sun at dawn. 

“Everything,” he says. “We can do everything together.”


End file.
